


The Devil You Don't

by cerise



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-29
Updated: 2005-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:19:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerise/pseuds/cerise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Weevil realizes Logan's innocent, and Logan agrees to work with him to find Felix's real killer, our intrepid teenagers get down to the business of figuring shit out together, and maybe they don't hate it as much as they'd thought. Maybe. Slight AU after S2's "My Mother, the Fiend."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil You Don't

The sign on the door reads "Out of Order," and not for the first time, Veronica marvels at how perfectly it describes the room's real function. Wallace had once called it her bat-signal for when something really _was_ out of order. He'd also spent weeks calling the Neptune High girls' bathroom "The Bat Cave," until she had finally blurted out that she didn't find the analogy too flattering because Batman's a depressing mental case and a total lost cause.

She's way too poor to be Bruce Wayne, anyway.

She sighs, Wallace still on the brain, and with a quick glance over her shoulder, she pushes the door ajar and slips inside.

  
+

  
The last person she expects to see there is Weevil Navarro, legs dangling over the edge of the sink, swinging, even, and picking under his fingernails with the menacing point of a gleaming switchblade. He barely glances up when she comes in, seeming wholly unsurprised that she's there.

She trains her expression on neutral and lets him sit there, feet still swaying, until he's done with his freaking manicure and gifts her with a tired glare.

"My, but we have developed quite the love affair with bathrooms lately, haven't we?" she smiles, feigning sugary concern. "I've heard fiber helps."

"We need to talk," he announces, like he hasn't heard her. She knows how this goes already; it's her cue to toss out more banter until he tells her what he came to say. It's exhausting and stupid, but she knows by now that there aren't any detours. She plays along on sheer reflex.

"We do, huh?" she muses, hands shoved into her pockets. "Is that the royal 'we'? 'We' need to hear 'ourselves' talk? And do 'we' also need 'us' to listen?"

He throws her a glance, like, _come on_. She caves, expression softening, silently cursing her easy capitulation.

  
+

He finishes his story, recounting his part in the events of Felix's last night alive, jaw set and daring her to speak to him, but all she can do is gape. He apologizes with a sincerity she knows enough to believe is real, but the things he's said have knocked all the wind out of her.

He studies her face, his words coming out resigned. "I can walk out of here right now," he says, voice low and even. "But... there's more."

Her mouth moves; she finds it takes effort to make sound come out. "I think," she says, "that I can't look at you right now."

+

Three days later, she still hasn't been able to look Weevil in the eye in the hallway. She isn't sure she can, without words she can't control just tearing out of her.

But she decides to brave it that afternoon anyway, slipping into the garage, using the deafening whir of his mechanic's tools as a cover.

She almost admires the way he doesn't jump when she speaks behind him; she wonders if _his_ stomach is in knots when he looks at her, too.

"This isn't forgiveness," she says. "But I need to hear the rest."

  
+

  
So she listens; she soaks it all in, watches him pretend to wipe his hands with a rag, trying not to fidget. She feels like a lead weight has been pressed into her chest.

"This is bad, Weevil."

"No shit, Nancy Drew," he lobbies back at her, sounding anything but irritated.

"This is like. Get-yourself-and-innocent-bystanders-killed bad."

"You think I don't know that? You think I didn't have my reasons?"

"I know you _think_ you did."

That's going to have to be good enough, for now.

  
+

She lets him get the whole story out in a tense jumble, for once not peppering his words with her own. She knows from experience with Wallace that her penchant for editorializing is contagious, though, and he's talking about _Logan_ , so she braces herself for the inevitable, and Weevil doesn't disappoint.

"But if you don't mind my saying so," he tells her, chin raised in defiance, "Your boy's got _problems._ " He taps his temple with his finger for emphasis.

"Then I guess it's a good thing you've decided to stop being one of them."

That gives him pause. "It was like... I can't stop thinking that the guy who killed Felix is still out there, you know? Roaming around free, thinking he got away with what he did to Felix." He waits for her to nod before continuing. "And I guess I realized... while I might personally find beating the shit out of Logan Echolls to be a very satisfying endeavor..."

That gets a tiny sympathetic smirk out of her, and she finishes the thought for him: "It's not going to bring Felix's real killer to justice."

"Yeah. _Yeah._ And... I dunno. Until that happens, I won't be able to rest easy," he tells her, like he's confessing something shameful. "I think about it every day. I can't stop myself; I've tried."

She nods ruefully."Believe me, big guy - I know how that goes."

  
+

Veronica waits until Logan's alone at his locker the next day, a rare moment in which he is not flanked by one of his stupid toadies or a random swooning sophomore. She grabs his elbow, fingernails digging into the thick fabric of his jacket.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she fumes at him, eyes wide with accusation. "Do you even have a functioning brain any more, or has the alcohol finally dissolved it all?"

"Why, hello, Veronica, I can't tell you how much I've missed your righteous indignation," he says, smiling, but he jerks his arm out of her grip. "It's been all of, what, twenty-four hours since you've inflicted it on me? I was beginning to think I'd been forgotten."

"How could you not tell me what Weevil's gang did to you the other night?" she goes on, surprised at how much it hurts to watch him wince at that.

He takes a moment to respond, collecting himself, eyes locking with hers. "Just what were you gonna do – swoop in and rescue me, like a good Caped Crusader? Yeah, it's a little late for that. Oh, and here's a newsflash for you, Veronica: I owe you exactly jack and shit in the way of explanations."

She tries not to flinch - she's well aware that she needs to hear it on as regular a basis as possible if it's ever going to sink in.

Still, she finds herself wishing her possessiveness weren't quite so transparent. So she forces herself to relax, casually leans back against the lockers as he slams the door to his shut. "At the very least, you should've told me that you guys had called off your moronic war and decided to figure things out together."

He scoffs at that. "Oh, yeah? And just why, pray tell, should I have done that?"

She graces him with her serenest smile. "Maybe because a girl could really use a heads-up if hell is _actually_ freezing over."

"What's the matter?" he asks, shifting his weight so close to hers that she can almost feel his breath on her cheek. "Afraid I'm going to invade your territory? Hmmm? The ghetto's not big enough for the two of us to slum it?" He smiles back, and it doesn't touch his eyes.

She straightens, pulls her shoulders back, smirk ever widening. "You know what, Logan? Sometimes my heart truly breaks for the things that happen to you. And other times? Times like these, for instance?"

His lips part, but she goes on before he can say another word: "... I think you deserve whatever you get."

  
+

"So you're in, right?"

Veronica starts at Weevil's words, almost dropping her pizza slice into her lap. She places it down on her plate, making an exaggerated show of swallowing. "Hello, Weevil. It's nice to see you, too. Why, I'm fine! Thank you so much for asking."

"Yeah, yeah, Miss Manners is gonna arrest my ass," he says, straddling the lunch bench next to her in one fluid motion. "I asked you a question."

"The answer is no," she says.

"Not an option."

"Oh, but, you see, I beg to differ," Veronica snapped, catching her anger, tamping it down. "I barely skimmed a toe into this baby and I almost got myself killed for my trouble. I'm not you or Logan. I'm not committing suicide by inches here."

"I don't think you fully understand the situation here, babygirl," Weevil says, eyes soft and voice deadly serious. "You're involved. That's just how it is. The only thing you get to decide is what you're gonna do about it."

"I'm sorry. You must have mistaken me for someone who actually takes your bravado seriously."

"I'm not playing games here, Veronica," he says, and something in the urgency of his leaning makes her press her lips together and listen against her better instincts. "You know what I think is really going down in the gang. If anybody gets wind of that – even for a minute – I'm gonna become their number one problem. And there's only gonna be one solution. And if you're not part of that solution, you're gonna be part of the problem. You get what I'm saying now?"

She gives him an enthusiastic nod, but says, flatly: "Nope."

"And here I thought you were smart."

A cold smile. "It's just a carefully crafted facade. Still not interested, Navarro. And my pizza's getting cold. You have no idea how teeming with resentment I am about that."

"Look." His voice drops to a low, even growl. "Logan Echolls might have drooling idiots for backup, but I don't. My boys know you're connected to both of us."

"I am _not_ connected to Lo-"

"Yeah, save it. You meet us tonight, or you're on your own with the fallout. And there _is_ gonna be fallout. Up to you, _Mami_."

Veronica steadies her breathing. Considers her options – mentally scrambles for a way to talk her way out of this. But she knows better, and she tosses her pizza onto the plate in total abandon, appetite long gone.

"You're gonna owe me so, so very much for this. Like. Forever. Like – your _grandkids_ are gonna owe me. Do you realize this?"

Weevil nods, his lips twitching in affectionate recognition. "Yeah. I do."

+

  
The first thing they realize is that the logistics of their new alliance might take some figuring out.

"No matter what happens, you two can _not_ be seen at my house," she says vehemently, her words bouncing off the girls' bathroom tile. "My father _will_ turn into a nuclear mushroom cloud the moment he sees either one of you there. And both of you at the same time?" She gives a clipped nod for emphasis. "Hiroshima."

Logan cocks his head, his face the picture of woundedness. "Gee, Weevs, do you think we should take that personally?"

"I think we could," Weevil agrees, neither of them taking their eyes off of her. "If we wanted to, I think our feelings could be deeply hurt by that."

Logan waits attentively for Weevil to finish, then sighs. "That was a very insensitive thing to say, Veronica."

Weevil nods gravely, tilts his head in Logan's direction.

"Okay, this?" she says, pointing at the air around them. "This right here? _Plum scary_."

  
+

"I just have one thing to say, before we get knee-deep into all of this." Veronica makes a vague gesture. "Weevil. Russian Roulette? Are you _serious_? Were you going to start making everyone call you 'Godfather' next?"

Weevil cracks his knuckles, expression dead. "Please. The gun wasn't even loaded."

"Yeah, that makes all the fucking difference," Logan mutters, grimacing.

Veronica rolls her eyes. "God. I don't know why I didn't see it before, but the two of you completely deserve each other."

"It must be pretty damn easy for you to pass judgment," Weezil snaps at her with sudden viciousness. "No matter what happens, the law's usually gonna be on your side in the end. Because you are who you are. But people from _my_ neighborhood? We sometimes gotta look elsewhere for justice. It ain't perfect, but that's just how it is – how it's always been - and I don't give a shit if you don't understand that."

She glances at Logan, incredulous. "Do you seriously buy into this? Please tell me you don't buy into this."

He considers it, then tells her, very carefully, "Um. Why, no, Veronica. I have absolutely _no_ experience with bearing the brunt of the failures of the justice system. Eli, where _do_ you get these wacky notions?"

She's not surprised to see that Weevil has nothing to say to that except to set his mouth with even more determination. She shakes her head, eyes screwing shut in disbelief. "At least you've forgiven each other."

"Oh, hmm. I wouldn't call it forgiveness, exactly," Logan corrects her, rubbing his chin. "I would call it... the desire to not spend the next thirty years of my life in jail overriding the desire to kick his ass."

Weevil clicks his tongue. "Like you even could." He goes on, before Logan can shoot back a reply: "Yeah, okay, Veronica. You tell me this. If my way of doing things is so crazy, if waiting for the courts to do the right is the sane thing to do, then how come it's been six months, and the guy who put Felix in the ground is still free and clear while your boy here faces fifteen to thirty in maximum security?"

Veronica opens and closes her mouth. She has nothing to say to that, so instead, she sets her jaw and sighs.

"What do you need me to do?"

  
+

  
Weevil and Veronica ride the hotel elevator almost to ground level before either of them speak.

"Jesus Christ. I have like a migraine or something. The two of you can really work a guy's nerves, you know that?"

"It's a 'crazy white people' thing," she quips, but the slump of her shoulders betrays her fatigue. "You wouldn't understand."

A beat. "Yeah. Hey... you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm _swell_ ," she says. She looks away, leaning against the railing. "Why wouldn't I be okay? What could be more normal than my life right this very second?"

Her voice is ragged around the edges, and he just stares for a moment. Starts to say something, thinks the better of it. Finally, just: "What're we gonna do with you, girly?"

She shakes it off, collecting herself and giving him a smile that's almost genuine. "It's fine. I hear living to see twenty is totally overrated, anyway."

"Hey –" he touches her arm, and he almost makes it to gentle. "Nothing's gonna happen to you. You got my word on that. Okay?"

She starts to formulate a comeback, something about, great, _now_ she can rest easy – but his expression is so sincere, she doesn't have to fake it when she nods.

"It's kind of cute, anyway," she says, sneaking a glimpse at him out of the corner of her eye.

"What's cute? Me? Yeah, I get that a lot," he retorts, and flips up the collar on his leather jacket with way too much smugness for her tastes. She has no choice but to needle at that. It's totally compulsive at that point.

"Nooo, you and Logan, working _together_." Her eyes gleam with sadistic glee. "Between you and me? I always knew you guys would end up being BFF. Soon you'll be passing notes in class and, like, exchanging those little lockets. You'll wear the one that says BE FRI... he'll wear the one that says ST ENDS..." She gives him a dreamy, toothy grin. "It's sweet, really."

He stares. And stares. "What?" she asks, all innocence.

"You," he says over the ding of the elevator, stepping out into the gleaming, too-bright lobby, "are _fucked_ up."

  
+

  
"Email? Hell, no," is Weevil's summation of Veronica's latest plan.

"It's the most secure way of communicating," she protests. "It's way more of a sure thing than our little pow-wows here. Hiding in plain sight only works if you're actually, you know, hiding. Besides, Mac can make sure it's encrypted better than the FBI's correspondence."

"That's brilliant, Veronica," he retorts. "Cause you know we got the wi-fi hook up back in my 'hood. Me and my brand new tricked out laptop, we're _likethis._ "

Veronica pauses at that, but Logan adds, "You can check it at the library, genius."

"The l-" Weevil collects himself, trains his expression out of its natural state of shock. "Me. At the library. You know what, Echolls? Sometimes I really don't think you actually listen to any of the bullshit that comes out of your pie-hole."

"Okay, okay," Logan clicks his tongue, then leaned toward Veronica conspiratorially. "I had no idea his people were so crotchety, did you?"

"Fuck you."

"Girls, girls, you're both pretty," Veronica says, slowly leaking patience. "Relax, Navarro. I was thinking you need a Sidekick."

"Aww, you read my Amazon.com wishlist," Weevil retorts, voice dryer than sandpaper.

"A-ha! So you _do_ use the Internet," she exclaims, clapping with triumph. "You know, Weevil, the days when the Internet was just for 35 year old virgins living in their mother's basement are long past. There's no shame in knowing your way around the dubya-dubya-dubya these days."

If looks could kill, Veronica is fully aware that she would be a small, smoking pile of ashes right now. So she tries a different tack. "Look. Phones can be bugged. Your cell phone can be tapped. Hotel rooms? Can be bugged. If we're going to do any decent amount of plotting and conniving here, I'm afraid you're going to have to foist yourself willingly into the twenty-first century."

"Dude, she said 'foist,' so you know she means it," Logan deadpans, nodding solemnly.

Weevil thinks it over. "I got a cousin who can maybe get one for me real cheap."

"A Sidekick?"

"Yeah."

"Well, great. Ohhh... but you'll probably need my expertise in picking out the one with all the features we're going to need," Veronica sighs the sigh of the long-resigned. "I can meet you tomorrow after school. Where's the store?"

Weevil's lips twist into a smirk. "Out the back of his van."

  
+

  
Most of the time, Veronica doesn't think of their little sting operation as _completely_ crazy. She's even starting to let herself believe they're making progress, and there's also the selling point that none of them have been shot, mutilated or "disappeared" yet. She's got a growing urgency in the pit of her stomach lately, like she'd gotten right before she had found the tapes of Aaron Echolls and Lilly, so she considers that a good omen, at least. Like maybe the pieces of the puzzle that they need for the answers are just about to fall into her path. The logical part of her brain knows her chances of getting that lucky twice in one year are absurdly microscopic, so it's a good thing she never listens to the logical part of her brain.

There's the fact that Weevil does indeed take her advice and get himself the Sidekick, which officially sanctions him into their little circle of... well, something. She hasn't yet sent him any messages, though, and the thought occurs to her that that's a little bit anticlimactic. So -

HOW'S THE SK WORKING OUT FOR YOU?

He takes so long to write back that she's just started to worry when she gets the response:

KEYS 2 FKN SMALL. AND U HAD 2 GET IT IN P INK WTF???

She types back, grinning: JUST LIKE PARIS HILTON'S, BABY. U KNOW U <3 IT. MEET @ 7?

She sends it, and thinks, yeah, so, things could definitely be worse - they could have nothing to go on, except for the knowledge that they'd totally failed Logan. But it's not quite as bleak as that - not yet.

This is still Neptune, though; she won't get too comfortable with their big collective, tentative peace - their hopeful impetus - because she's pretty sure the other shoe will drop any minute and everything will go right back to its usual hell.

But, at least, it's a one-shoe kind of world for _now_.

  
+

  
"Champagne," Weevil declares, banging two shot glasses down onto the coffee table in front of Logan, "is for pussies." He brandishes a small bottle of tequila at him, and says nothing more, because, really, tequila speaks for itself.

"Now I know you're trying to kill me," Logan feigns a groan, but he doesn't take his eyes off the bottle as Weevil pours them each a shot. "What convenience store did you hold up to get that, anyway?"

"I stole it out of my grandmother's kitchen cabinet tonight."

"No fucking way," Logan cries. "Mrs. Navarro is an _alkie_? Any remaining shred of innocence I had has just been shattered in one fell swoop."

"Don't be an asshole," Weevil snorts. "She got it for Christmas eight years ago. She'll never even notice it's gone."

Weevil watches Logan consider the significance of the scene before him, ducking his head for the briefest moment. When he looks back up, he's all too-wide smiles. "You did all that for me?" Logan clutches at his shirt melodramatically. "I'm so touched, Weevs. You like me. You _really_ like me."

Weevil shakes his head, disbelieving, like, this kid's fronting _never_ stops. "Maybe I just got nowhere better to go."

"Don't you people have block parties and shit at times like these? I thought I saw Sheriff Lamb sharpening his claws earlier when I drove by the police station."

Weevil falls silent at that. Yeah, "his people" had block parties for just such these occasions... but they were filled with people he didn't think he wanted to lay eyes on any more, much less party up with. Somehow it wasn't his idea of a good time right now. Even though he knew that in a later moment of lucidity, he was going to start asking himself how Logan Echolls ended up being his preferred choice of company.

Clearly, it's just as Veronica had warned him: the White People Crazy was contagious.

"Bottoms up," he makes himself say. "Just so's I don't have to listen to you talk for three seconds."

Logan doesn't need another invitation. His fingers wrap around the shot glass, and he holds it up in salute to Weevil, who clanks his own shot glass against it before downing its contents in one shot. Logan watches him do it, and copies the motion himself. After he's done cresting from the aftertaste, he manages to choke out, "Yeah, so, happy new year, dickhead."

Weevil smiles, a real smile then. "Happy new year to you, too... bitch."

**Author's Note:**

> This can be thought of as a sequel to "This Damned Unholy Alliance," but works as a stand-alone, too.


End file.
